Watch Out
by Spikesgirl58
Summary: It's almost Christmas and Napoleon doesn't have time to get sick. Too bad no one mentioned that to his cold. Part of the Foothill series


"I don't get it." Napoleon stopped to cough. It seemed to well up from his toes and take over until it was all he could do to hang on. Finally, he was able to gasp for air. Illya sat down beside him and rubbed his back.

Napoleon's head felt light and his chest ached. He flopped back in the bed and looked at the bedside clock. It was still two hours before his next dose of any medications.

"What's the worst that can happen, Napoleon?" Illya followed his gaze. He stood and pulled on a pair of black and white checkered pants and a chef's coat – the uniform of the culinary industry. "You'll stop coughing and maybe get a little sleep."

"Sleep would be good." His voice was gravely and low.

"So, what don't you get?"

"I take care of myself. I exercise, watch what I eat, take vitamins, get plenty of rest and I get sick. You do none of that and you are as healthy as a horse." He coughed again, tears leaking from the corners of his scrunched up eyes. "It's not fair."

Illya smiled tightly. "And you do not to contend with a bad back, sore feet, aching joints, and suffer from a chronic lack of sleep. It seems to me that everything comes out in the wash." He finished buttoning his jacket and ran a hand through his hair. "I will send something over for you. Try to eat it."

"No promises." Napoleon pulled the blankets up over himself.

"Then at least remember to drink." Illya made sure the bottle of water was close to the edge of the nightstand. "I'll check in on you later if I can."

"Remind Rocky to push the zin. It's new and no one has heard of it, but it's a nice solid…" He started coughing again.

"You have to worry about nothing except resting and getting well." Ilya kissed his forehead and was gone.

Napoleon watched after him. He wasn't exactly sleepy as much as he was weary. His body ached, despite the medication the doctor had prescribed. He reached for his book, then set it aside unopened. He didn't feel like reading. He didn't feel like doing anything. That had been his first clue that something wasn't right.

Napoleon paused to stamp his feet on their porch. Like everything else that was part of this house, it was small. One day he would build on to the house and give them some much needed room. He was ready now, but Illya… Illya would never admit it, but he loved that house just as it was. For one person and one whose place was mostly somewhere else, it had been perfect. Illya could just walk across the parking lot from the restaurant and he was home. He didn't need or want a lot of space. Illya was happy with a bed and a kitchen. Everything else was gravy.

Napoleon glanced over at the pile of evergreen boughs he had in a bucket of water. He still needed to back swags with them, a relatively simple task and yet he just didn't feel up to it. Shaking his head, he pushed open the door and stepped in.

There was a tiny entryway that was just big enough for a closet. To the left it opened into the living room. There was a small patch designated as a dining room and through that was the kitchen. At the back of the room, there was a flight of stairs that led to the second floor. Up there were two bedrooms and a bathroom. Nothing fancy, but enough.

Napoleon pulled off his jacket and hung it in the closet, along with his muffler and hat. It seemed frivolous to pile this many clothes on to walk from his wine shop home. It was just beyond Taste, but the nights in Jackson could be bitter and he seemed to feel the cold more than usual.

He clicked on a light and immediately, two cats were at his feet, wrapping themselves around his ankles.

"Hey, you two, I need to be able to walk." His voice sounded husky and Napoleon coughed. "Come on and I'll feed you." That sounded better.

He paused to stoke the fire and then went through to the kitchen. As unkept as the rest of the house had been when he arrived, the kitchen was a model of cleanliness and efficiency. For not the first time, Napoleon paused to admire the man Illya had recreated himself into.

He got some food from the pantry for the cats and put a kettle of water on. For some reason, a nice cup of tea called him. It took him longer to decide upon a tea than it did for the water to boil, but he finally settled on a nice apple and elderberry tea. Best of all, it was in a bag, so he only had to drop it into his mug and let it steep.

While the cats ate, he rummaged through the refrigerator for something to snack on. He would eat later when he went over to Taste, but now he needed a bit to hold body and soul together. Napoleon settled for a generous slice of persimmon cake with a dollop of fresh whipped cream.

He carefully carried everything to the coffee table in the living room and settled onto the couch. It was just nice to sit with only the firelight as illumination. There was a pile of mail that needed to be looked at and a tree that wasn't getting any younger. It needed to be decorated, but Napoleon just couldn't seem to get started.

He sipped the tea and pulled an afghan, one of his mother's, around him and watched the flames dance.

There was a sensation of lips against his forehead and he opened his eyes.

"Hi there," Illya said, squatting in front of him.

Napoleon smiled and sighed. "Hi." His voice caught and he cleared his throat. "Slow night?"

"No, just the opposite."

"Just snuck away to be with me?" Napoleon's eyes were threatening to close again.

"It's nearly eleven, Napoleon." Illya brushed the salt and pepper hair off Napoleon's brow. "You didn't even wake up when Rocky came in. We decided to let you sleep."

"What?" Napoleon sat up and looked around, confused. His tea and cake sat untouched, although the whipped cream was gone and Moutard was belly up in front of the slowing dying fire. "I just…"

"Don't worry. I do this all the time myself." Ilya stood. "Why don't you head upstairs and I'll be right behind you."

Napoleon nodded, his throat dry. He drank the tea down, the cool liquid soothing and refreshing, and got slowly to his feet.

It seemed to take an Act of God to get up the stairs. He listened to Illya move about downstairs, but didn't really think too much about anything except getting into bed.

The bedroom was cold, just the way his partner preferred it and for once, Napoleon welcomed the feel of the cool air against his skin as he stripped. He looked at the bathroom, shook his head and climbed in between the flannel sheets. He was asleep before he even registered their softness.

He woke a few minutes before the alarm went off and immediately turned off the ringer. There was an unmoving lump to his left that told him Illya was still fast asleep. Napoleon got up and pulled his robe on and headed for the bathroom.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd gone to bed without brushing his teeth, but he took care of that now, along with running a washcloth over his face. He still felt tired, but overall better. He took a couple of aspirin and headed downstairs.

The fire was nearly out and it took a few minutes of coaxing for it to stumble back to life. That accomplished, he headed for the kitchen. Right now, he needed a good jolt of coffee to wash the cobwebs away.

Napoleon stared at the coffee maker, surprised. It wasn't like Illya to prep the coffee the night before, but all Napoleon had to do was flip the switch and wait until the last bit of coffee dribbled into the pot and it _beeped_ its conclusion. He took a deep breath and shook his head. He couldn't smell a thing. When he sipped it, he could barely taste the robust blend they used, but the liquid was warm on his throat.

He carried his cup to the desk and realized that the letters had been sorted into two piles, his and Illya's. That was good. It took him just a moment to thumb through the bills. Nothing was pressing, so he would pay them later.

He checked his watch and nodded. There was just enough time to work on the tree. He reached for a box of ornaments and then stopped. The tree was covered with lights and ornaments. Part of him was sad for this was one of the things he looked forward to, yet another part was relieved. There were two boxes of ornaments that had been set aside.

 _I thought you'd like to do these yourself_ was scrawled on the back of an envelope and stuck to the top box. It was Napoleon's ornaments from home, a few select favorite he'd kept with him all these years. Carefully, he unwrapped the first one and then another, each one bringing back a flood of memories.

"Did I surprise you?"

Napoleon nearly dropped the ornament he'd been holding and turned. Illya was standing there, dressing only in his usual thin tee shirt and jogging pants. His hair was a flurry of blond and he still looked half asleep.

"You did in more ways than one." Napoleon released the death grip he had on the ornament's hook and hung it from a branch. He navigated the space around the coffee table and gave Illya a kiss. "Thank you."

"I knew you were tired and thought it might help. You're on your own with the garland, though." Illya walked to the kitchen, closely followed by the cats.

It seemed to take just minutes to hang the rest of the ornaments and put up the garland. Likewise, it took a few minutes to do the swags for the front doors and the porch posts. He stuffed the bills into the pocket of his jacket and walked quickly to Vinea, carrying their swag.

"Morning, boss," Sandy called out as he stepped inside. He had a clipboard and was inventorying wine. "I think we might need to order some more of the sparkling wine from Storey. It seems to be selling fast, especially the raspberry flavor."

"That's fine." Napoleon broke off into a coughing jag that left him breathless.

"You okay?" That was Salem. She was counting out the register. Cliff was suddenly at his elbow with a glass of water.

"Swallowed wrong," Napoleon managed and gratefully took the glass. "Thank you." He cleared his throat, wincing. "Everything about ready to open?"

"We are on time and within budget," Cliff answered. He looked out into the parking lot. There were a few cars parked there, but no one was braving the Jackson morning any sooner than they had to.

"Go ahead and hang the swag and open up, then." He headed for his small office and the privacy it afforded.

"Are you ready for lunch, Napoleon?" Sandy was standing at the door, his hair pulled back into a ponytail.

He looked up from the paperwork he'd been staring at for what seemed like forever. "Lunch? We just opened?"

Sandy laughed, then sobered. "Three hours ago. Are you okay? You look sort of flushed."

Napoleon's first impulse was to brush off the comment, but the reality was that he didn't feel well. His head ached as did his joints. He was coughing and sneezing. Worse was that he couldn't seem to get warm. "No, I am not okay."

"Maybe you should call the doc."

"I just need to get some sleep," Napoleon countered. "If you need me, you know where I'll be."

"You got it."

Of course, Sandy would tell Illya. Illya was the default head of Vinea when Napoleon was not around. Napoleon had barely managed to get home and get into bed before Illya was there and the doctor was on his heels.

"Bed rest, Napoleon."

"A week before Christmas? Not likely." Napoleon stopped to cough.

"Okay, let me put it to you this way. Bed rest or hospital. You're working on a fine case of walking pneumonia."

"Well, since you put it that way." Napoleon's lungs gurgled their agreement as he slumped back in the bed.

"I knew you'd see reason." The doctor turned to Illya. "I'll call in some prescriptions that should make him more comfortable."

"They'll stop him from coughing?" Illya winced at the sound.

"They make him sleep."

"Excellent." Illya slapped his hands together. "Don't worry. Vinea will be fine."

Napoleon sighed, now back in the present. The wind was making the window rattle and he shivered, even though the bedroom was comfortable. A week had passed and he was only starting to feel more like his old self.

There was a knock on the door and a familiar voice asked, "Are you decent, Mr. S?" It was Rocky from the restaurant.

"Rocky, boy, am I glad to see you."

Rocky entered carrying a tray. "That hungry are you? That's a great sign."

"No, that bored. How is everything going?"

"Not bad, but not great. Everyone seems to be getting the same thing you are. We had four parties cancel tonight and three tomorrow night. Chef is even talking about closing early for our break."

"It's that bad?" Napoleon propped himself up against the pillows as Rocky set the tray on his lap.

"Yup. It felt good to get out of there."

"How about the staff?"

"So far, so good, but who knows how long that will last." Rocky took the top off the tray and Napoleon grinned with happiness. " _Soupe à la tomate et un sandwich au fromage grillé._ It's amazing how much better things sound in French."

"Isn't that true?" Napoleon sampled the soup and sighed. "It's so nice to be able to taste again."

"I bet. I'll be back later to pick that up. You keep feeling better."

Napoleon nodded, too busy eating to do anything except wave goodbye. It was glorious to have his taste and his appetite back. The soup and sandwich disappeared with very little effort and he even drank his milk and ate the chocolate chip cookie dessert with gusto.

Carefully setting the tray aside, he got up and then carried it to the hall table. It felt good to be out of bed. So good, in fact, that he stripped off and took a long shower. The steam seemed to help clear his sinuses even more. By the time he headed back to bed, he felt as if he'd truly turned the corner.

He took his meds as prescribed, got back in between the covers and closed his eyes. The wind knocked against the house, but as he and the cats settled down, he felt quite content.

How much time had passed was anyone's guess, but he was instantly awake. There was a light coming from the bathroom and he could hear the shower going. He rolled over and struggled not to shut his eyes again. However the cough medicine was stronger than he was.

When he woke, Napoleon felt like a new man. He sat up and grabbed his robe, taking care not to wake the man beside him. Walking to the window, he peeked out at a white frosted world. Snow covered everything, hiding all the imperfections and making it wonderful.

"A White Christmas," Napoleon murmured. "I don't believe it."

"Believe it," Illya's voice was husky with sleep. "It came early. I closed everything up last night. Whatever sales we lose will be worth knowing everyone is safe."

"I can't begin to thank you for everything you did for me this past week, Illya. It was such a luxury to have time to get well."

"No problem. I'm sure you would do the same for me."

"Absolutely. Wait, we are speaking hypothetically, right?"

And Illya started coughing…


End file.
